“You’d better come and dine with us to-night, Mallory,” said Fenton, pausing as they were about to leave.  “Penelope and I are due at the Albert Hall later on, but we shall be home fairly early and you can entertain Nan in our absence.  It’s purely a ballad concert, so she doesn’t care to go with us—­it’s not high-brow enough!”—­with a twinkle in Nan’s direction.

She glanced at Peter swiftly.  Would he refuse?

There was the slightest pause.  Then—­

“Thank you very much,” he said quietly.  “I shall be delighted.”

“We dine at an unearthly hour to-night, of course,” volunteered Penelope.  “Half-past six.”

“As I contrived to miss my lunch to-day, I shan’t grumble,” replied Peter, smiling.  “Till to-night, then.”

And the Fentons’ motor slid away into the lamplit dusk.

“Wasn’t that rather rash of you, Ralph?” asked Penelope later on, when they were both dressing for the evening.  “I think—­last summer—­Peter was getting too fond of Nan for his own peace of mind.”

Ralph came to the door of his dressing-room in his shirt-sleeves, shaving-brush in hand.

“Good Lord, no!” he said.  “Mallory’s married and Nan’s engaged—­what more do you want?  They were just good pals.  And anyway, even if you’re right, the affair must he dead embers by this time.”

“It may be.  Still, there’s nothing gained by blowing on them,” replied Penelope sagely.

CHAPTER XXVI

“THE WIDTH OF A WORLD BETWEEN”

Nan gave a final touch to Penelope’s hair, drawing the gold fillet which bound it a little lower down on to the broad brow, then stood back and regarded the effect with critical eyes.

“That’ll do,” she declared.  “You look a duck, Penelope!  I hope you’ll get a splendid reception.  You will if you smile at the audience as prettily as you’re smiling now!  Won’t she, Ralph?”

“I hope so,” answered Fenton seriously.  “It would be a waste of a perfectly good smile if she doesn’t.”  And amid laughter and good wishes the Fentons departed for the concert, Peter Mallory accompanying them downstairs to speed them on their way.

Meanwhile Nan, left alone for the moment, became suddenly conscious of an overpowering nervousness at the prospect of spending the evening alone with Peter.  There was so much—­so much that lay behind them that they must either restrict their conversation to the merest trivialities, avoiding all reference to the past, or find themselves plunged into dangerous depths.  Dinner had passed without incident.  Sustained by the presence of Penelope and Ralph, Nan had carried through her part in it with a brilliance and reckless daring which revealed nothing at all of the turmoil of confused emotions which underlay her apparent gaiety.